


Can't Help

by mommymuffin



Series: Breathe Me [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All-Knowing Deaton, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Melissa, BAMF Stiles, Blood Bond, Blood and Gore, Cardiac Episode, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutilation, Panic Attacks, Protective Stiles, Psychological Torture, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:44:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You'll know then that I'm not going to take very kindly to you taking Derek."</p><p>"Oh. I know," Kate assures him with the devil's own smirk. "I'm counting on it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Thrill of It

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I would try to get this posted Monday and I very clearly didn't and I'M SORRY. It just needed a little more work, you know. I don't even have the next chapter done to give you as an apology! D:
> 
> Speaking of the next chapter...it's going to be a little while probably. I've got a LOT of work to do on developing the next story arc. Like a lot, y'all. Plus, I've got a bit of life things hitting me again that are going to make it hard to buckle down and get it done. I hope it's not too long before I get the next chapter up, but I want it to be a good read for all of you, so it very well may be. I apologize in advance and hope that you'll still stick with the story.
> 
> Also, a big thanks to my new beta who is helping me with this series, monkeyloser! You're awesome! :D
> 
> With that said on to the goods! A day late, but hopefully not a buck short, here it is!

Stiles' tires squeak as he pulls to a stop in front of the warehouse. It's the same one where the showdown with Gerard went down. Stiles is already so far past murderous by the time he gets there, it barely registers, just one more degree added to his boiling rage.

He storms through the door, the air around him practically alive; his fingertips feel burnt; his blood feels like it's swarming in his veins. Stiles' eyes flash in fury when his gaze lands on the room's occupants.

Kate is standing in the middle of the room looking as pleased as the cat who caught the canary. The "canary" is hanging by his wrists from a beam, feet dangling, electric nodes hooked up to him, curling wires leading back to a car battery. His eyes meet Stiles', his expression raw, but he's silent. He doesn't want to give Kate anything she can use.

Stiles understands. Even speaking Derek's name aloud feels like it would be giving her something, so he keeps his mouth shut, too, in spite of all the things he could say in that moment.

"Well," Kate says, tone lilting and joyful.

Stiles hates her.

"Look who it is. It's Stiles! The witch-boy. Caught your show with the hunters the other day. Did you get my note?"

"Let him go," Stiles demands, voice as hard as steel, ignoring her as best he can.

"Aw, c'mon, Stiles," Kate says with a playful shrug. "Don't be so hasty. Let's talk. Let's chat!"

"Okay. How are you _alive_?"

"Oooo, excellent question." She shifts the rifle at her side up to her shoulder and starts pacing casually.

Stiles _hates_ her.

"You weren't even there when Peter Hale ripped my throat open, were you? Well, I'm sure you heard the tale. Blood, claws, gore, the whole shebang. But see the thing is Peter only ripped my throat _open_. He didn't rip it _out_."

The gears in Stiles' mind are already turning, spinning a mile a minute. He's catching on, but he wishes he weren't. "So you never died."

"Correct," she says smiling wide like a bride on her wedding day.

"You turned."

The words are like a giant bell being rung while your head is stuck up inside it, hollow and resounding and _painful_.

"You got it, Sparky," Kate says and her mouth widens around lengthening teeth, her eyes turn jade, and her face becomes blue and spotted. She is not a werewolf, but she is _something_.

Stiles thinks of Jackson, standing right in the middle of this very room and going from lizard to dead to werewolf in a matter of minutes. _A shape that reflects a person's true self._

And Kate is feline, the Cheshire Cat himself, a sinister display of power and grace and deception.

 _Stiles hates her_.

"Werejaguar," he says aloud before he even realizes the word has popped into his head. He remembers that, remembers researching it. Something about South America.

"Correct, again, Stiles," Kate says, sauntering around the room, face fading back to human. "You really are the _smart_ one, aren't you?"

"You really are just like _Peter_ now, aren't you?" he says, just to get a reaction from her. Just because the words are too familiar not to.

She smirks, recognizing Stiles' attempt at baiting her. "I am nothing like he was," she says calmly, but there's an edge of bitter hatred there in her words, in her voice.

"Oh?" Stiles asks. "Because you look like a crazy, revenge-driven were' to me. Tell me, how does your hunter family feel about your new look?"

She sneers. "Dad is the only one who knows and he couldn't be prouder. I'm the _ultimate_ hunter now." She snaps forward at the waist and practically throws the words at Stiles.

It all makes sense now. Gerard smiling so smugly when he said he wasn't involved. Because he knew it was Kate. Knew it would blindside them completely.

He thinks of Allison's mother killing herself so she wouldn't become a monster. Stiles thinks Kate and Gerard were their own brand of monster long before either of them were bitten.

"So the hunter you killed and left on the porch. Did you and dear-old dad send him and his buddies?"

"Oh, that group of half-wits? No. They came here all on their own. But they did make for a very convenient way to gather information about _you_ , Stiles. You and your blood wolf."

Stiles bristles at the mention of Cor. Her knowledge is unsettling and Stiles would have liked to have surprised her with a bloody maw around her throat. As it is, now he's starting to think that it might be more satisfying to kill her with his own bare hands around her throat, but...First things first.

"Glad you know so much about me. You'll know then that I'm not going to take very kindly to you taking Derek."

"Oh. I know," Kate assures him with the devil's own smirk. "I'm counting on it."

"It's your funeral."

Kate's expression turns thoughtful, she looks up and off to the side. "Didn't I already _have_ one of those?"

Stiles' bares his teeth, clenches his fists. "I'll make sure this one _sticks_."

Kate prowls over to him, simpering all the way. She places her hand on his shoulder and he stiffens. Stiles sees Derek jerk, straining against the bonds.

"Little spitfire, you've got here, Derek," she says casually, leaning into Stiles intimately. The muzzle of her rifle comes to rest on top of his shoe in warning. A hand comes up to stroke his hair. She's all over the teen. But she's completely ignoring him. Her words are directed at Derek and Derek alone. "You know I never realized you swung both ways. Of course that didn't matter, when _we_ were together…Then again, maybe you weren't back then. Don't tell me I broke your little heart so bad, you were turned off from women for good?"

Derek is glaring daggers, chest heaving with deep breaths, a shoddy effort at self-control.

Kate smiles widely and quirks her eyebrows. "I don't hear a 'no'. Geez, Derek. I mean, I knew I ruined you, but I didn't realize it would make you turn to sleeping with _underage boys_. I mean, how old is he, Derek? Sixteen? Seventeen?" Her hand moves to Stiles' chin to manipulate it this way and that, getting a better look at his youthful face. Stiles feels ill as she goes on, "I admit he is delicious in that twink sort of way. All lithe and limber, creamy skin, and pouty lips. And don't forget those big, brown doe-eyes. I bet he cries sometimes, doesn't he?"

Derek snarls viciously as Kate's hand travels down Stiles' cheek and onto his neck. She knows exactly how possessive a gesture that is to werewolves. It's the rise she's getting out of Derek that she's after. And she's not done.

"Do you enjoy violating him? Because he's a teenager? Is that some sort of sick kink you developed because of how old you were when we slept together? Do you remember that, Derek? You were so young, so _willing_. Just like Stiles is now, I bet. Tell me, does he bend over for you whenever you want like a good little boy?"

Stiles has had enough. His knife flicks out from his sleeve. His mouth tastes like hot ash.

"Get the hell away from me," he demands.

"Make me," she whispers against his ear.

Stiles slashes out at the air, well aware that he isn't going to make contact. That isn't the point here. The point is to get her _away_. Stiles is successful and she hops away from him.

And right toward Derek.

A sick, angry feeling is rolling through his stomach, the poison spilling from Kate's lips spreading through his bloodstream as if she had injected it with a needle. His bond with Derek twists painfully inside him. He can feel Derek trying to pull away from him, so Stiles doesn't get caught in his collapse. Kate is drawing parallels like lines right down the center of their relationship.

Stiles won't let her break them apart.

Kate is joyful, laughing at Stiles and wrapping her hand around Derek's jaw. "Looks like he made me," she pouts cutely, not at all affecting defeat. "Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to hang out with you instead, Derek. Just like old times. You can show me all the nasty things you've done to that boy over there. You can show me all the ways you've _ruined him_."

That's what does it. That's the breaking point for Derek's conviction, his belief that he and Stiles are nothing like he and Kate were. He had tried not to let her words reach him, but they did and now he's dropping like a stone, plummeting back into the depths of his self-made prison, sinking to the bottom to drown in his guilt over his mistakes. Pulling farther and farther away.

Stiles calls Derek's name.

"Look at me," he says.

Derek slowly looks up at Stiles' face, his expression forlorn. As if he's certain that he's already permanently lost Stiles.

Stiles knows what he's doing. He's trying to make some sort of stupid, self-sacrificing play like he always does. All of a sudden he thinks that he's no good for Stiles, that being with him can only hurt him in the same way that Kate hurt Derek. Because that's what Kate wants him to think. Because she's making him doubt everything about their relationship so far; making him think that he's been lying to himself and none of their happiness is real. Kate is making him think that he's trapped Stiles in this relationship that he couldn't possibly want _—_ because of their age difference; because of Derek's past; because of Derek.

Doesn't he realize that _Stiles_ is the one who's trapped _him_?

Stiles reaches out with his magic, a warm breath sweeping through the air, to embrace Derek. To envelop and protect him. _To pull him back in and prevent him from running_.

_You're mine._

The message is broadcast along their bond, like a vibration along a guitar string, the note loud and clear in Derek's head.

_Don't you ever forget that._

Derek nods slightly after a beat and the pulse of their connection beats steadily once more. The tightness under Stiles' sternum eases.

"Wow," Kate says, observing the whole exchange with an air of mockery. "The kid sure knows how to keep you in line."

Will renewed, Derek meets Kate's eyes defiantly and bites out , "Go to hell."

"Only if you go with me, sweetie," Kate purrs and drops her hand to Derek's shoulder. Derek screams when her claws punch through his skin and muscle and bone. The sickening crunch can be heard from across the room by Stiles.

He yells, "Get away from him!"

She grins back at him, taunting and mean. Then she tilts her head back toward Derek's face. Her lips are en route with Derek's and something in Stiles snaps.

The smell of flame like a thousand burning wicks fills the room and Kate's attention lands abruptly back on the teen. Derek is watching him, too, eyes wide and worried.

He's never seen an expression like that on Stiles' face _—_ on _anyone's_ face. Even through all the times someone has tried to kill him, he's never seen an expression like that, so dark and sharp and violent.

Eerily calm.

Stiles looks completely lethal in that moment.

It's terrifying.

Kate doesn't seem to notice, but then the criminally insane tend to ignore many points of reality. She's downright gleeful when Stiles' grip on the dagger tightens, the blade glinting menacingly in the scattered light of the warehouse.

"Do it, Stiles," she says. " _Do it_. I wanna _see_."

Stiles doesn't say a word, only opens up a wound on his left palm. Cor immediately begins to take shape, drawing Derek's blood from his malformed shoulder. He doesn't wait for a command from Stiles, bares his teeth and growls at Kate, prowling around her.

She laughs. _Delighted_.

"Cor," Stiles says lowly and the wolf's ears twitch toward him. "Kill her."

Cor lunges with a great roar, aiming right at Kate's throat. The werejaguar dances out of his way and fires a shot through Cor's chest. The body of blood swirls apart only to come back together. It doesn't slow Cor down for a second.

While Kate is distracted by keeping out of Cor's reach, Stiles starts skirting the room and making his way to Derek. He's almost there, reaching out to touch him, when Kate calls out from across the room.

"Ah, ah, ah!"

A split second later Cor is hurtling toward Stiles and knocking him  to the ground. They both go skidding and tumbling across the room. Stiles looks up over Cor, who is scrambling to find purchase and right himself, to see Kate peeking around Derek's torso at them.

"No touching, Sparky," she tells him and runs her claws down Derek's front, ripping a scream from him.

"Kate!" Stiles shouts, unbelievably angry.

Kate downright cackles and then, face going catty again, leaps away as Cor resumes the chase.

Stiles gets to his feet and is going for Derek again. But Kate zips past him and tosses him by the shirt collar. He lands a good forty feet away, the breath knocked out of him and his head spinning.

He hears Derek's roar. The chains rattling as he tries to shake them loose. Cor's savage snarl. _Kate's laughter_.

This is all just a game to her. Just a sick, twisted game. It always has been. Murder and slaughter is just a pastime to her. People's lives are just toys. Toys she enjoys _destroying_. Derek has been her favorite plaything for a long time now. She can just never hurt him enough, never quite be satisfied with the level of pain and suffering she's brought him. She just likes filling him full of holes and watching him bleed. Over and over and over.

Stiles will enjoy watching the light go out of her eyes.

Cor yelps.

Stiles' head snaps to the side and the regret is instantaneous, when a shooting pain goes through it. He winces, but focuses his eyes enough to see what's happening.

Kate has flipped her shotgun and is jamming the butt of it into Cor's face repeatedly. Cor is trying to dodge, trying to get in his own blows, but he's not succeeding.

He's slowing down.

Because Stiles is slowing down. His focus is ebbing away into pain. His magic is struggling to move through his sluggish, blackening consciousness. The edges of his vision are blurry. Just breathing is hard. He can't hold on for much longer.

They're going to lose.

Cor is failing to keep up with Kate and Stiles is defenseless, nearly immobile, and Derek is still chained up, still bleeding _so much_.

Stiles' gaze drifts over to him and he wishes he had the strength to call out to him, but all he can do is watch the red run off of him into a puddle on the floor.

There's so much blood.

It comes to Stiles like an epiphany.

_There's so much blood._

That's it.

Stiles produces his knife again and flips it in his hand. He closes his eyes to center his magic, pulling in all the loose ends and clearing away some of the murk. The magic snaps into place like a flipped latch and Stiles' eyes fly open wide. He surges upright and his irises alight with fire--his spark--burning hot. His sudden movement catches Kate's attention and she stops brutalizing Cor to stare at him.

The flames in his eyes are bright. The image in his mind is clear. The knife in his hand is warm.

"Look who managed to get up," Kate sneers, leaning her weight onto Cor's throat, where her right foot rests, and drawing a whimper. "Are you going to stop me now, Sparky?"

"No," Stiles says. "I'm going to finish you."

Stiles stabs straight down into his forearm. Derek is screaming, probably telling him to stop, but Stiles pays no attention to him. There is only his magic and his blood and his mind now. The blade cuts deep, the wound wide and gaping, and Stiles pulls back and stabs again. He keeps hacking until his arm is a tattered mess. His blood falls to the floor drop after drop after drop. Then he looks up and meets Kate's dangerous gaze.

"Try this on for size, bitch."

The dripping blood shoots into the air like fireworks and rushes for Cor, where Kate still has him pinned under her boot. The blast of sheer power that accompanies it blows her into the air and sends her sprawling onto her back. Her shotgun goes skittering loudly into the corner. The faint smell of smoke hits the air and a single gray tendril curls up from the surface of Kate's clothes.

Cor twists and snarls on the ground, convulsing as the additional blood from Stiles' arm and the pool underneath Derek's feet join together in him. A monstrous, hulking shape begins to take form and when he staggers to his feet it's clear exactly what shape Stiles had had in mind.

It's an Alpha form, similar to Peter's in that it's on two feet, but the lines of him are sleeker, more well-defined, more wolf-like. Cor shakes his large head, like he's adjusting to the feeling of his new skin, his new height, his new _power_. When his ears stop twitching, his cold eyes find Kate.

She's gotten back to her feet and she watches him from a crouch. Her eyes are gleaming in fury. Stiles shoots her a smug smile, when her gaze flits to him. Clearly she underestimated him.

"Cor." Stiles speaks firmly. "End this."

In an instant the blood Alpha bounds toward her on all fours. Kate's eyes meet Stiles' for just a second, and Stiles doesn't bother raising his voice to say, "Once and for all, Kate."

She doesn't even get her hands up before he has her pinned to the ground. A massive red claw comes down on her chest and slices right through her breast and into the rib cage below. Her scream is ear-splitting and Stiles closes his eyes briefly against the din. When he opens them, Kate Argent is no more. The pieces of her lay scattered across the cold cement floor and her blood forms around them like a dark hole for her remains to lie in. Stiles thinks it's appropriate, when he compares it to a grave, in that she dug hers here tonight. In truth she dug her own grave a long time ago.

Cor drops a chunk of unidentifiable viscera from his mouth and stands on his hind legs to stride smoothly over to Stiles.

"Good boy. Get Derek down," he tells him and the beast obeys. He even catches Derek, when Derek can't catch himself, and sets him gently on his feet.

Stiles finds he can't move his legs to walk, but that's okay, because Derek stumbles over to him, still broken and bleeding and weak. He'll need time for the electric tampering to fade before he starts healing. But he'll be all right.

_He'll be all right._

"Stiles," he says when he reaches him and clamps his hands down on his shoulders. " _Stiles_."

Stiles can't feel his arm.

"Derek," he says and the fire in his eyes goes out. His body goes limp in Derek's arms right before Cor's body comes apart and splatters across the floor.


	2. The Pain of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got the next chapter ready!!!
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long! Thank you all for hanging in there with me! :)
> 
> Oh! And this part is going to be three chapters instead of two. I knew that was going to have to happen eventually... Sooner rather than later, I guess~

Something is wrong.

He can't breathe. There's no light. Where is the light? Is he alive? What's happening?

Something is _wrong_.

Stiles is struggling. Struggling to get back to the surface, to the light. Struggling to breath. The heavy weight of the darkness keeps trying to pull him back under, drag him back down. Drown him.

_Something is wrong._

What is it? What's wrong? Why does he feel this way? Everything is wrong. He has to find out why. He has to find what's wrong, so he can _fix_ it. He won't let the darkness win. He won't go under again. He'll figure this out. He just has to _wake up_ —

" _Stiles_!"

The teen jolts awake in a flurry of limbs and sheer terror. His breath is coming short and he's well into a panic attack. There's some sort of frantic beeping and voices and he doesn't know where he is or what's happening, but he knows now with all possible clarity that something is _missing_.

_What is it?_

Then he sees his father's face. Hears his father's voice. And Ms. McCall. She's there, too.

"Stiles, calm down. You're in the hospital. It's okay. You're okay."

Stiles gasps, wills his lungs to cooperate and finally takes a proper breath. Everything is topsy-turvy and nothing makes sense. His mind reels trying to find solid ground in this hellish version of reality. It feels like there's sand in his mouth and cement in his feet and a cold, iron lump in his chest. His head doesn't even feel attached to his body.

The Sheriff and Melissa hold onto him, ground him in the chaotic whirlwind of his mind, and the beeping gradually slows to a more even pace. Stiles steadies himself, but he doesn't relax.

Something is still wrong.

Everything feels wrong.

_There's something missing._

There are people hovering over and around him with clipboards and charts and instruments that they poke at him with. Stiles just focuses on his breathing, on his single-minded goal to fix what's wrong, on the urgent sense that something is missing and he needs to _find it or he will fall apart._

The doctor deems him stable and like a godsend, leaves Stiles alone with Melissa and John.

Stiles is about to start asking a thousand questions in spite of his dry, aching throat, but his dad is already holding up a hand to stop him.

"Derek. They're gone. Get in here," John calls out.

Stiles follows his gaze to the window and blinks dazedly to clear his swimming vision as it slides open and Derek drops through it.

"Stiles," he says as soon as his feet hit the ground. He goes to him without bothering to close the window; Melissa does it for him.

Derek looks hollow and shaken and pale. He reaches the side of the bed and tentatively extends a hand toward Stiles' face. Stiles knows in his bones that he needs Derek to touch him. He doesn't know _why_ , but he does, he needs it, the thought is screaming in his head like a great, quaking roar. Yet for _some reason_ Derek isn't doing what Stiles needs him to do. Stiles doesn't know why he's hesitating, doesn't know why he won't just _touch him already_.

He understands as soon as their skin makes contact. The sensation is something like being hit by a tornado. They both buckle, the breath punched right out of them, and they start trembling violently. Melissa and the Sheriff go on high alert, at the ready, but hanging back, because they're not sure what's happening.

Stiles knows though, realizes what’s happening like a sharp point of clarity splitting through the swift blur in his head. Derek must know, too, or else he wouldn't have hesitated, wouldn't have worried about the uncertainty of what exactly was going to happen as soon as their skin made contact again. Derek must have known what was missing all along.

It's their bond.

They had been disconnected while Stiles slept so deeply, the bond having run off to lay dormant within Stiles' consciousness. For Stiles to be conscious again, for Derek to be here with him, the bond is reawakening with new life. It follows its old paths, racing through veins and bones and heartbeats. It's overwhelming at first. Like being thrown into a vacuum and spinning around and around and being turned inside out all at once.

Everything suddenly slots into place.

The two pant for a few beats, dizzy and euphoric and whole again.

Of course. Of course that's what had been missing. Stiles blames the hospital-grade drugs for not realizing it sooner, as the feeling fills him full again and puts everything back as it should be.

His magic settles, humming in happiness once more, solidifying the connection between them in a flush of warmth.

Derek touches his forehead to Stiles' and Stiles brings a hand up to cover Derek's over his cheek.

"I missed you," Derek whispers.

"I'm sorry I was gone."

Derek turns his face to bury it in Stiles' neck. Stiles’ hand moves to soothe at his back.

The Sheriff ostensibly clears his throat.

"Oh. Uh. Hey, Dad. Ms. McCall," Stiles says, having to clear his throat before he can get the words out. Derek straightens abruptly, face carefully lacking any more emotions.

"Stiles," his dad says, arms crossed disapprovingly, full father-mode activated. A moment later he lets his arms, and the charade, fall in favor of leaning in and hugging Stiles tightly. He sighs, relieved. "You scared us real bad, kid. Glad you're awake."

"Uh, yeah. Glad I'm awake, too. What...what happened?"

He's met with a stunning silence, so he asks, "What?" looking from face to face in confusion. That's when he notices a flash of white where there shouldn't be in his lower peripheral. He looks down at his bandaged left forearm and it all comes rushing back.

"Oh, god."

Derek presses in closer to the bed, a hand going to Stiles' lower back.

"You remember?" Sheriff Stilinski asks.

"Yeah," Stiles says shakily. "I remember. I'm...I'm really not sure exactly what I did or why it worked or...but yeah. I remember." A pause. "She's dead, right?"

"Yes," Derek says in a blank tone of voice that is frankly terrifying.

 _Good_ , Stiles thinks, but won't say in front of his father. "So what happened after?"

"Derek got you to the hospital. On foot," the Sheriff explains. "Then, he called me. Then, he called Chris Argent."

"Oh, god. Chris and Allison. I—"

The Sheriff holds up a hand again. "I think they understood the circumstances."

Stiles nods, still concerned about the Argents' reactions, but lets his father continue.

"Chris took care of the warehouse. God only knows how from what I heard it looked like. I came straight here and they already had you hooked up to a blood transfusion and were working on resuscitating you. You weren't breathing for four whole seconds. But god bless them, they got everything working again and then they put you under the needle. Twenty seven stitches in your left arm."

The witch looks down at his arm, imagining the mangled mess it must have been before the doctors sewed him up.

"Plus a concussion, two cracked ribs, a whole hell of a lot of bruising," John adds. "Not to mention the obvious severe blood loss and shock."

"Three and half pints," Melissa chimes in. "You were half-dead, Stiles."

"I...I'm sorry I put you through that. But—"

"But you did what you had to do," the Sheriff fills in. "I know, son. Damn if you didn't scare me half to death though."

Melissa nods. "You scared everyone. Scott, Allison and Lydia have been by every day. Isaac came once, too. Of course we've all been here every day."

"How many days?" Stiles queries.

"Three," the Sheriff supplies glancing at his watch. "It's just past two in the morning on Friday."

"Friday?" Stiles questions, something in his brain pinging. Then he looks at Derek suddenly. "The full moon was last night."

Derek nods silently.

"Were you okay?" Stiles asks, alarmed. If Derek had felt anything like Stiles had when he'd woken up to a broken bond, the full moon must have been _unbearable_ for a werewolf suffering the same thing.

Derek reluctantly answers with, "It was...hard."

"Derek. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'm okay."

Stiles grips his hand tightly and wishes he could take away that pain. Wishes he could take away all of Derek's pain from the past few days. From the past few months. Years.

The Sheriff says, "Derek has spent every night except that one on the roof of the hospital. Melissa has been taking the night shifts to check on you, so he can be in here even when people who aren't direct relatives—or the Sheriff—shouldn't be. He's been coming through that window at every opportunity for the past seventy-two hours."

Stiles stares at his dad for a moment. "He never does that at home. I swear."

The Sheriff gives him a look that says he's disappointed Stiles even tried that. Derek and Melissa both roll their eyes.

"Good to see you're the same old Stiles," Melissa says sarcastically. Then she pins him with a sharp look. "You seem _very well_ actually. How do you feel?"

"I feel fine," Stiles says and knows immediately that that was the wrong thing to say when Nurse McCall's sharp gaze switches to Derek.

"Derek Hale. I thought I told you to stop doing that. How are we supposed to know if he's healing properly if his own body can't tell us?"

Stiles figures that Derek has been sucking his pain away while he's been in the hospital bed, even under Melissa's strict orders not to apparently. She's pinning him with the full-on mom-look now and Stiles and the Sheriff are both subconsciously shrinking away from her.

"He was in pain," Derek argues.

"I know he was," Melissa says. "You think I don't know that? I'm a nurse, of course I know that. But that is part of the human body's natural healing process and you need to let it run its course properly or he may go galumphing off for more idiotic shenanigans before his body is actually ready for him to."

"Hey," Stiles protests at the unflattering picture Melissa just painted of him. That is clearly also a mistake.

She turns the mom-look on him and says, "Do you want to start, mister? Because let's start with the fact that I found out you were dating a twenty-four year old werewolf when he walked through the front doors of the ER carrying your bloody, barely alive body."

"Uh, no...let's not," Stiles says weakly.

"Seriously, Stiles. You are practically my second son. You think I wouldn't have wanted to know that you were _eternally bound_ to Derek?"

"I...figured Scott told you?"

"He didn't."

"Okay, well. My bad."

"Yes. Your bad. You better thank the stars your father already knew or so help me, I would have strung you up by your ears. Mystically bound to a twenty-four year-old at sixteen," she scoffs. "Only you, Stiles."

"Yep. Only me," Stiles agrees, resigned.

"You know he can't do anything normally, Melissa," John points out.

"I know, I know, but geez, weren't you a little more shocked about this when you found out?"

The Sheriff shrugs. "I'm a detective. I more or less saw it coming. Well. Except the werewolf/magic thing."

"Christ…" Melissa groans. "Well, I'm glad you've made peace with it. Because I still haven't."

 _What the hell is it with the McCalls and hating on the Stiles and Derek love?_ Stiles thinks to himself. Fortunately the hospital drugs are still making him a little too slow to blurt large sentences out randomly.

"Stiles knows what he's doing, Melissa," John assures her.

"Does Derek?" Melissa asks adamantly, looking over at the werewolf who has been trying to turn invisible for a few minutes now. "Do you know what you're getting into with a relationship with Stiles? Because it's a lifelong commitment of worrying too much and never loving enough. Do you know the kind of toll that will take on you?"

"Wait, what?" Stiles says. He has completely lost his grasp on the situation. Melissa is concerned _for Derek_?

"I don't think you're fully prepared for exactly how committed to you Stiles will be. Stiles is the most insane person I know," Melissa states. She's still addressing Derek and everyone is starting to think she's forgotten where she is. "Because he is insanely loyal and dedicated and sometimes it's almost creepy, but for the most part it's unbearably sweet and he will do anything for you. Anything. Do you understand that, Derek? Do you understand what it's like to have someone _that_ devoted to you? Are you prepared to have someone be so undyingly loyal to you that it's frightening? Do you know that he will do things that will make you think he is a psychopath? But then he'll do things like get hurt protecting you? Because that is exactly the kind of person he is. And it will make you feel like the worst person in the world on the day you realize you will never, ever be able to be as good to him as he is to you. Don't put yourself in this relationship if you're not willing to go through all of that, Derek."

And Stiles gets it's suddenly. Melissa is thinking of a specific instance of his "insane loyalty." It was when he and Scott were nine. Scott's sorry excuse of a father had come home drunk on a night that Stiles was sleeping over. Being rambunctious nine year-olds the two boys had been running around the living room, loudly playing some game or another. Mr. McCall had come in and told them to shut up.

Scott had told him "Mom said it was okay."

"Well, she's not the boss of you. I am,” the drunken man had slurred.

"You're not the boss of me! You're barely my dad!"

Then, there was Scott running out of the room and his father moving to give chase, only to have Stiles tackle him at the knees. Then, Mr. McCall knocking him across the face out of reflex.

The incident had ended with the man pulling back in surprise, a sore cheekbone, Melissa coming in, and whole, whole lot of yelling.

Stiles hadn't realized Melissa still remembered that.

Derek stares at Melissa, his shock just barely showing on his face, mainly around his wide eyes.

"I know," he says eventually. "I know that Stiles is...Stiles. I...I know how he is. And I know I'll never be good enough for him, probably never even come close, but...I'm willing to spend the rest of my life trying. If he'll let me. I'll protect _him_ , while he's trying to protect everybody else."

Stiles stares at the knobby shape of his knees under the thin hospital blanket, unable to make eye contact with anyone in the room. That sounded an awful lot like a marriage proposal to him.

Melissa stares at Derek for a length of time. Then she nods. "You sound like you do know what you're getting into."

"I do."

"Then I guess I'm done here," she says. "We're all done here actually. Stiles needs to rest, as do the rest of us." She shoots a pointed look at the Sheriff, which he ignores. She moves on to making shooing motions. "Come on. Everybody out."

The Sheriff rises from his crappy plastic hospital chair and leans over to kiss Stiles' on the forehead. "Love you, kid."

"Love you, Dad."

He heads for the door, Melissa behind him. She turns back around when she realizes that Derek is making no move to leave.

The look on his face isn't exactly pleading. It's still rather blank actually, but the beseeching question is there and Melissa sighs.

"One hour. I will come back to make sure you leave. I expect Stiles to be asleep by then."

"Thank you," Derek says with a nod.

"They're ridiculous," Melissa tells the Sheriff as he opens the door for her to go through first.

"I know," he says in solidarity. "Completely ridiculous. I can't believe they're real sometimes."

"We can still hear you," Stiles says.

"We know," they say in unison, then disappear behind a closed door.

Stiles sighs after them. "Talk about ridiculous."

"Are they…?" Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs. "I can't tell half the time. It's complicated I think. None of that for us though, right?"

Stiles smiles and opens his arms up for Derek. The werewolf obligingly crawls onto the bed to lay with him, careful of the wires and sensitive injuries.

"Right," he murmurs into the teen's collarbone. He takes a deep whiff of Stiles' scent. It's off, too many drugs in his system, too many injuries trying to heal, and the faint, smoky aftereffect of his magic reestablishing their bond. But it's still Stiles and he smells content and sleepy and wonderful. He smells like home.

"So who are the flowers from?" Stiles asks, glancing at the collection on his bedside table.

Derek stops sniffing him to roll over and reach for a card off of one of the four arrangements, the largest one on the table, which is an elegant all white bouquet of lilies and roses. He opens it and holds it up for Stiles to read.

 _Heal quickly, stupid_ , it says. Signed _Lydia_.

Stiles chuckles a little. "Aw, she cares."

The next arrangement of bright yellow daisies and sunflowers is from Allison and Chris. The message reads: _Please get well soon_.

Stiles is glad they seem to be taking his brutal murder of their relative so well.

The smallest vase, which contains mainly mums, is from the lacrosse team.

"Danny brought it by," Derek tells him. "I was here when he did. It was a little awkward. But he told me he hoped you get well soon. Then warned me about what happens to older men who take advantage of younger men."

Stiles laughs. "I don't know when I got Danny in my corner, but it's nice to know he is. Surprised Finstock sent flowers."

"I think it was Danny's idea."

"Makes more sense."

The last gift is a basket overflowing with bright yellow and green blooms, a wolf plush stuck in the middle of it.

It's from Scott.

"Huh," Stiles says, reading the card.

_I'm sorry. Never do something stupid without me again. Get better soon._

"Were you here when Scott came by?" Stiles asks.

"Once," Derek replies. His tone of voice implies it was not a pleasant encounter.

"Still hates you then?"

"Maybe more now."

Stiles nods. "Good to know he's still got my back anyway."

Stiles passes the card back to Derek for him to place with the flowers once more.

"What? No flowers from you?" Stiles inquires cheekily.

Derek smirks. "No. No flowers. I did bring you something though."

"What? What'd you bring me?" Stiles asks, perking up at the sly look on Derek's face.

"Do _not_ tell Melissa," Derek instructs as he reaches in his pocket and passes over the gift to Stiles.

Stiles gasps delightedly. "You brought me junk food!"

It's a Reese’s, Stiles' favorite. Stiles could not think of a more perfect gift to bring him when he's confined to the hospital and sentenced to eat their version of "food."

"Seriously. Do not let Melissa find out. She has been looking for an excuse to throw me out of here."

"No, she hasn't," Stiles says.

"You don't know. You were unconscious."

"I was, but I know Ms. McCall. She's just doing the mothering thing for me, since I don't have one. She always does that when I'm in the hospital."

"Oh," Derek says sadly.

Stiles doesn't want to think about his dead mother anymore, so he opens the candy and offers a peanut butter cup to Derek. "Want one?"

"No. You have it."

"Don't mind if I do."

Stiles finishes the treat and Derek stuffs the wrapper into his pocket to dispose of far, far away, much to Stiles' amusement. They lay together, quiet and peaceful and exhausted for a long time.

Stiles starts drifting. The drugs are making him sleep-heavy and he's physically still very tired. Mentally though, he finds he's very awake. His mind is racing at near its usual speed and replaying the events of the fight in his head again and again.

Something is still wrong.

He's tired and slipping back into sleep. Stiles wants to sleep.

But something is still wrong.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning from the sky and he shoots upright, knocking Derek mostly off of him.

"Derek," he says, panicked. "Why the hell am I in the hospital?"

Derek frowns, confused. "Because you lost a lot of blood. You almost died."

"No. _Derek_ ," Stiles insists frantically. "Why. Am I. In the hospital. At all? I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have "lost" any blood, Derek, I— _Derek_."

Stiles looks at Derek in a complete state of heightened fear. Derek had hoped he wouldn't have noticed so soon, but it's Stiles and he's always, always been too smart for his own good.

" _Where's Cor_?" he demands.

When Derek tells him what happened, Stiles stops breathing.


	3. The Fear of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for this part! Just a little short one to round it out. :)
> 
> EDIT: Now with correct medical knowledge thanks to the lovely Kat!

The doctor has to resuscitate Stiles.

The shock of losing Cor was enough to make Stiles' heart stop.

It's the worst moment of Derek's life, he thinks. Which is saying a lot, considering. But he's shoved out the window by the Sheriff and he has to stand helplessly on the roof and listen as they try for twenty minutes to stabilize Stiles. There's a moment where Derek thinks Stiles isn't going to start breathing again, that he's lost him and everything he has to live for. But the shout of "clear" brings him back to life once more and Derek manages to hold onto a thin thread of hope.

Once Stiles is finally stable, they shoot him up with a muscle relaxant to paralyze him temporarily. It works. He lies still in his bed, too still,  _far too still_ , every organ and muscle working at the barest, most sedate pace.

The Sheriff calls Derek back into the room and Derek, rubs his face over Stiles' cheek, lingering for fifteen whole seconds, then calls Deaton.

"I trust you have a good reason for calling me at four in the morning, Mr. Hale," Deaton says on the other end of the line, sounding perfectly normal and awake.

"Stiles' heart stopped when I told him about Cor."

"Well. That's a good reason if ever there were one. Let me speak to him."

Derek holds the phone up to Stiles' ear and the boy starts babbling immediately.

"Deaton. How do I get him back? What happened? I don't understand where he could have gone. He lives inside of me doesn't he? Where did he go? How do I find him?"

His words aren't slurred at all. In fact he seems alarmingly alert for someone who had just been given a sedative. His body twitches in involuntarily aborted movements. He almost seems like he'll spring out of bed any minute. Melissa is watching on with deep worry lines forming across her brow.

"Stiles," Deaton says firmly, halting the spilling words. "Let me explain something to you about magic."

"Okay."

"Magic is all about balance. When something is given, something must be taken in return. This is the law under which all magic operates. What you have to understand from this is that there is no power that comes without a price.

"You don't know this, but a magic user such as yourself is able to draw on the natural powers that flow through the universe and use them for your own purposes. That is exactly what you did, whether you knew it or not, when you pulled more power to make Cor bigger and stronger. What happened with Kate—the way you defeated her—required a lot of power, and therefore, a lot of sacrifice on your part. That's why you had to mutilate your arm. When you cut open your arm, you were offering up your own blood to further your power. You didn't know it at the time, but it was never going to return to you.

"Normally, only your own energy is necessary to summon Cor, something that may have left you feeling a little tired at first, but fine otherwise. It's also something that required less and less exertion from you each time you did it, because you were becoming well practiced with it. Like building a muscle. But this time, you had to give something else in exchange for Cor's more powerful form. That level of power...exhausted you. Expired your link to Cor. He's not gone, Stiles, but you'll have to find him again once you've regained your strength."

"How?"

"You just have to give it some time. Your magic is too fragile right now. It doesn't have the capacity to support a creature like Cor, but it will again. Please understand: you simply don't have enough energy for it at the moment. Cor will return to you when he can. When both of you can. But to try to force it, Stiles, you’ll only hurt yourself. Perhaps even, irreversibly.”

"There's got to be something—"

"Stiles. Don't. Push it."

Stiles sighs. "Okay. Fine. Resting. Got it."

"Good. Try not to let his absence bother you. You'll find him again. When you're ready."

"Yeah...thanks, Deaton."

"You're welcome, Stiles. Rest well."

Stiles shoots Derek a thunderous look and Derek takes that as his cue to remove the phone—and Deaton's voice—from his vicinity. Immediately.

"Thank you," Derek repeats to him.

"You're welcome. But Derek...I mean what I said to Stiles. I'm sure you heard it all.  He needs to rest and wait for this to fix itself. He needs time to heal."

Derek resists the urge to sigh, knowing every pair of eyes in the room are on him.

"Okay."

"I know we're talking about Stiles here, but try to prevent him from doing anything too...drastic."

"I'll try."

"And I hope you succeed. Good day, Derek."

Deaton hangs up and Derek turns his attention back to Stiles, who is studying him in a shrewd manner identical to his father's, when he's trying to suss something out.

"You'll try what?" Stiles asks suspiciously.

"To swing by the clinic tomorrow. Deaton has more of that eucalyptus balm for you to use on your arm."

Good thing he's the only werewolf in the room.

Stiles still doesn't look like he believes him though. "Hm. That's good, I suppose. But how exactly am I supposed to use that balm if I'm supposed to take it easy on the magic, hm?"

Jesus christ. Derek doesn't know if that's genetic or if Stiles just picked up his skills from years of digging into police work alongside his father. Glancing at the Sheriff Derek notices he seems sort of pleased by his son's astute observation. Derek is thinking it may well be both.

Either way he's been caught by it. So he rolls his eyes and says, "Fine. He said to keep an eye on you while your magic is recovering."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. It's easier to just tell me the truth, Derek. That way I don't have to embarrass you."

Derek rolls his eyes again.

"I'm still going to get you some of that balm."

"How thoughtful," Stiles says mildly.

"Go back to sleep, Stiles," Derek says and leans in to kiss him on the temple.

"Yeah, I guess I should. Don't go too far for too long."

"I won't."

"Mm," Stiles murmurs, eyelids fluttering closed.

Melissa watches him carefully as Stiles shuts his eyes and finally allows himself to relax. He's asleep in an instant. The whole of the trio notices this. Notices how strange it seems.

"Is that…?" the Sheriff starts.

"Normal?" Melissa provides. "No. The muscle relaxant should have slowed him down, made him drowsy, until he finally drifted off. That was like a switch was flipped. On-off." She gestures up and down with her hand, then shakes her head.

Derek shifts his weight and considers all the smells in the room. He doesn't really have to check to know that the glowing ember smell that had been emanating from Stiles since they slipped him the relaxer is rapidly fading out of existence.

"His magic," Derek says, drawing the parents' attention. "He was fighting the drugs. Then he wasn't."

The Sheriff sighs. "Is he doing that consciously?"

"Probably," Derek says. Then after a beat, "Maybe. He's resisting either way and his magic is what's making it possible for him to...succeed, I guess."

"I thought he was...low?" John says.

"He is," Derek agrees. "Low. But not empty."

"He's just going to hurt himself more if he keeps that up," Melissa says, frowning deeply in concern.

Derek nods. “Deaton said the same.”

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen then," the Sheriff says, looking at each of them.

They nod in agreement, in promise. But even still they're all doubting their abilities to do such a thing.

"It won't be easy to stop Stiles," Melissa says. "It never has been."

"Have either of us ever really succeeded in stopping Stiles? Ever?" the Sheriff asks.

She shakes her head. "No. Pretty sure we haven't."

"Maybe with Derek here, too, we'll finally succeed," Sheriff Stilinski says, peering at Derek, an encouraging smile on his face.

Derek suddenly feels like he's standing in a spotlight. Melissa and the Sheriff are both looking at him with something like hope in their eyes. Expectation. Like they're _depending_ on him.

"I'll try," he says. Even as he feels the low sinking feeling in his gut that tells him _You're going to let them down. You're going to let everyone down._

_Just like you always do._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> http://mommymuffin.tumblr.com/


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